


Forgotten Love

by Pearl09



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Pining, Platypuses, Post-Fall (Good Omens), Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Slow Burn, angels have gold blood change my mind, anything where these two pine through the years, because I can never do proper angst, because in my opinion, fall-fall, is slow burn, oh my god there's an actual tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22361461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl09/pseuds/Pearl09
Summary: There was war in Heaven, once. The First War, The Glorious Revolution,The Fall: it was referred to by a lot of names. After those who questioned God were cast out, most of the angels settled back into a normal routine. For one angel, however, this was not the case. His normal routine was shattered, and he would do anything to get it back. Anything, including letting the very demon that caused his world to shatter into the Garden of Eden and back into his life, even if the demon does not remember anything from before.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 138
Kudos: 199
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Eyes Once Golden

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! My bang fic!! Huge thanks to everyone who's helped me out, you're all great. There will be some art scattered through the fic, so be sure to keep an eye out for that! You can visit the artist [ here on tumblr!](https://crystalphobic.tumblr.com/)

  


Dark spots freckle the demon’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and the length of his arms, as if stars had burned out. “They seem to be doing alright.”

“Huh?” Aziraphale had lost focus, too busy studying the demon who wouldn’t leave him alone. With only four intelligent beings on Earth at the moment surrounded by scores of animals, he had grown bored and decided to stick around the angel for company. 

“The humans. I don’t see why you insist on keeping an eye on them.”

“Alright is a relative term,” Aziraphale says, turning to watch for any dangerous beast or animal that may try to harm the humans. “That’s the thing about ineffability – you never know what might befall on those you care about.”

Crawly purses his lips. While Aziraphale seems friendly enough to him, something still seems… off. He can’t place it, though; it’s not like he has ever met Aziraphale before, so he has no idea how his mind works. “I’m sure God’s not planning on killing the only two humans in the world any time soon, so She wouldn’t let any harm come to them if we leave for one night. Come on, let’s go somewhere else.”

Aziraphale finally turns his gaze away from the humans, opting instead to study Crawly again, though this time, less subtle. Crawly suddenly finds himself very interested in watching the humans instead of paying attention to the way Aziraphale’s bright blue eyes pick him apart.

“You know, Crawly doesn’t seem to fit you.”

“Huh?”

“Your name; it doesn’t really fit you,” he repeats. If someone asks, he will deny that his words have any ulterior motive. 

Shrugging, Crawly answers, “I was sort of thinking the same thing. Funny coincidence, huh? Might change it in the future; I don’t know. Not like I’ve had anything else.”

“No?”

Crawly furrows his brow and turns to look back at Aziraphale. He heard something in that word… something that almost sounded sad, or hurt. He takes a second to think back; to be sure what he says next is the truth, even if he is a demon. He can’t remember much from the Fall – he remembers a few fellow demons from before, a handful of scattered memories of talking with them, but there are no names. Especially not his. “No,” he confirms, watching as Aziraphale looks away, blinking in the dying sunlight as if he is holding back tears.

He nods curtly. “I see.”

There’s a pregnant pause after, and for a while, Crawly wonders if he said something wrong – and what it would even be. The last thing he wants to do is make Aziraphale mad at him, even if he isn’t sure why. He enjoys his company; any demon would have done something awful to him by now, so it’s a nice change of pace to be able to talk to someone without a fear of them stabbing you for fun once they grow bored.

“Where would you want to go?”

He said it so suddenly that it throws Crowley off-guard, but nevertheless, he recovers to say, “There’s a small hill not far from here; still close enough to reach the humans quickly if something were to happen. Night is falling; we could watch the stars?” He is rather fond of the stars; he barely remembers building one of the nebulas.

Forcing a smile, Aziraphale says, “Lead the way.” He’s being nice because he can’t help it. It’s in his nature to try and be kind and nice to everyone, no matter what. Even if they’re a demon. When Crawly first approached him on the walls of Eden, the conversation sounded as if they were strangers meeting for the first time. Aziraphale was hurt by this… but if the time since the Fall had really felt that long for him, and – Crawly – has moved on, then so be it. But when the demon wouldn’t leave him alone, it let the hard edge between kindness and friendship soften just a touch. Maybe… Maybe it won’t be that bad to have a friend to talk to during his stay on Earth.

Later, as the pair lean against a lonesome tree, branches waving softly in the night breeze, Crawly sparks the conversation up again. He looks through the sparse bushes at the fire flickering from the sword Aziraphale gave away, showing the location of the two humans.

“So, what are you?” Crawly says.

“What do you mean?”

He gestures vaguely. “You know, angel hierarchies or whatever.”

Aziraphale tilts his head curiously. “Principality. I thought you would have known that already.”

He frowns and shakes his head slowly, lost in thought. “Can’t remember much of the hierarchies. Can’t remember much of anything from before, really.”

“Can’t… remember?” Aziraphale looks upon Crawly, suddenly concerned. His thoughts fall into place as everything suddenly makes sense now; why their first conversation seemed to be between strangers, why he didn’t seem to recognize Aziraphale at all, why he – “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I can hardly remember anything from before the Fall. I’m doing better now than I was directly after; I woke up and didn’t remember a thing. Memories come back to me in flashes, but they don’t seem like anything important. Not yet, anyway.” He folds his hands behind his head and leans back against them, looking up at the stars and trying to see if he can recognize any of them. Aziraphale has grown quiet, so Crawly glances over to see if he’s even still there. “You alright?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale answers, forcing a quick smile.

Not entirely convinced, Crawly sparks the conversation up again. “Why were you put in charge of the gate anyway? You don’t seem like much of a fighter. You certainly didn’t do anything to get rid of me, even after I tempted the humans and it led to their exile.”

“I didn’t want to fight you,” he says. _I just wanted you back._

“Well, you got lucky then,” he sighs. “If it was any other demon, I’m sure they would have attacked you first.”

Aziraphale thinks on it. They probably would have. And any other angel would have attacked Crawly. Why did it end up being the two of them? How, out of the millions, maybe even billions of demons and angels, did they manage to be the two on Earth? “It’s best not to speculate,” he finally says, focusing on the glittering starlight reflecting in the demon’s eyes; eyes that were once golden and full of hope and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art can be found [here on tumblr!](https://crystalphobic.tumblr.com/post/190448325498/title-forgotten-loverating-teen-and-up-audiences)


	2. Compassion For All

Aziraphale knows his orders. Gabriel had delivered them personally, which was a rare thing. Not many angels like to visit Earth unless absolutely necessary. But, when God is about to flood the world, or at least the immediate area he’s currently taken up residence in, a proper explanation does help. He is to stay on the ark with Noah and his family, overseeing everything to make sure no human or animal succumbs to sickness, and that there is always enough food. He wishes he knew why the Almighty insisted on a local extinction-level event, but questioning was never something he’d do. He’s lost too much to that already. Forty days and forty nights is nothing to an immortal angel, so he accepted, and Noah welcomed him aboard after the rain started; right before he pulled in the boarding plank.

Of course, that was after Crawly had left in a hurry. Aziraphale has a feeling he is up to something – he is a demon, after all; it is his job now. But Aziraphale still remembers the pained look on his face, the strain in his voice when he asked, _not the kids, you can’t kill kids._ Aziraphale can’t, personally, but he can’t disobey orders either.

It’s only day three when he finds the stowaways. Aziraphale was checking on the animals in the lowest deck when he heard a strange noise from below. But below is supposedly empty space as the boat joins its sides together underwater, so Aziraphale is afraid it means there is structural damage to the ark. Seeing as that would be a _very_ bad thing, he quickly miracles himself down, coming face to face with a handful of small children and one fiery red-headed demon glaring at him. 

“I should have known it was you,” Aziraphale tuts. “You never know when to stop.”

“They’re just children,” he hisses as he protectively wraps an arm around the nearest one, scared Aziraphale is going to stop him. “You can’t hurt them.”

“Oh, my dear, I’d never.”

Crawly pauses at this. “Never?”

“Well, they certainly aren’t doing anything wrong, except being a tad too noisy for a group of stowaways.”

“But…” he trails off, confused. “But She was going to drown everyone, and here I am with some humans you said weren’t going to be saved–”

“They weren’t going to be saved by Her,” Aziraphale interrupts. “You thwarted Heaven’s plans, and this is certainly too grand of a scheme for me to do anything about it. I consider myself properly thwarted.” He considers before continuing, “My orders are to make sure everyone on this ship has proper food and doesn’t get sick. So,” he blinks, and suddenly bundles of food appear around the children. They stare at it for a few seconds before digging in happily, leaving the angel and demon to themselves. Up close, Aziraphale can see that his freckles are fading away, lightening to match the same pale color as the rest of his skin.

Crawly finally breaks the silence between them. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just – finally listening to an old friend.” _Compassion_ , he thinks. _One thing the Fall didn’t take._

They watch the children for a few minutes as they enjoy the food before Aziraphale breaks the silence this time. “I should go back before someone comes looking.”

“Right, of course.” Crawly nods and watches as Aziraphale disappears, his eyes lingering for a few moments after before he returns to the kids, sitting down among them as they rush over to braid his hair.

Aziraphale checks on the small group daily and Crawly perks up every time he knows the angel is coming. He likes Aziraphale; he’s not like most angels. At least, he’s not what he expected most angels to be like. The stories the other demons like to fabricate about the angels don’t seem to fit Aziraphale. He hasn’t met any other angels and doesn’t remember enough about before to speak for the others, though. He doubts they’re as good as Aziraphale.

“I’ve been meaning to ask something,” Aziraphale starts, leaving the sentence off to get permission fro Crawly before continuing. 

“Go on,” he says with a nod.

“You had asked about my position as an angel a while ago, but I never asked you about your position.”

“As an angel?”

“As a demon.” He knows who he was as an angel.

Crawly scratches behind his ear in thought. “We don’t have any fancy names like ‘Principality’ or ‘Cherubims’; it’s more of a ‘Lord’ and ‘Duke’ sort of thing, but nah, I don’t have a fancy title.”

“Really?” Aziraphale sounds surprised.

He shrugs. “They don’t like me much. I suppose it’s because they don’t find me as demon-like as the others. Lord Beelzebub, man, they’re a terror. In multiple ways. All those flies buzzing around, it drives me crazy. Duke Hastur, he has a frog on his head, and I hope he didn’t look like that when he was an angel because – damn. I swear I saw the frog eat one of Beelzebub’s flies when Hastur was in a bad mood. Well, in a worse mood. I think demons are usually in a bad mood.”

“Well, I think they just need to get to know you, then.” Aziraphale smiles. He didn’t mean for it to come out in the teasing manner it did, but when Crawly looks at him with a confused smirk, he realizes he forgot he was talking to Crawly and not – him before the Fall. His smile drops.

“Oh really? What is there about me for other people to like?” He says it almost like a challenge – daring Aziraphale to list all of his greatest and most likable qualities.

Aziraphale takes in his cocky smirk and the spark in his eyes and feels an all too familiar feeling fluttering in his chest – something he has not felt in ages. “Oh, I think I hear someone coming down here,” he says as he looks up at the dark-paneled ceiling, avoiding the question. “I should go back up before they begin to grow suspicious and find all of you down here.” He is making an excuse, of course, and Crawly is fully aware of this – it isn’t a very good one – but he simply shakes his head and lets Aziraphale leave, going back to taking care of the kids.


	3. You Protected Me

When Aziraphale was told to go to Rome to spread some Heavenly influences, he really should have expected the demon to show up there, too. Even the Fall could not keep them apart; what else was he to expect? It’s always easy to tell when Crawly – no, Crowley – is in a bad mood, though, so he tries to help in the only way he knows; with food.

Their little excursion into the world of oysters was fun, even if Crowley hardly ate anything. Afterward, it seemed almost too casual to ask him back to Aziraphale’s place for drinks, but he did it anyway, and they had a rather lovely night.

Crowley falls asleep in the early hours of dawn, a mess of sharp angles haphazardly thrown across the chair. Aziraphale shakes his head and carefully covers him with a blanket, noting his freckles have now completely faded. Almost as if they were scars. He doesn’t understand how Crowley can fall asleep; it’s such a human thing to do. After making sure he will be alright like that, Aziraphale heads out into the cool morning air, hoping to spread some good around before everyone started to wake for work.

What he had not expected this early in the morning was for other people to be milling around as well, most of them eyeing him shadily and clutching suspiciously shaped packages. He had hardly ever seen the bad things about humans, largely due to not going out at night as often. Perhaps this was the reason he was tasked to come to Rome in the first place.

He throws a couple of blessings on a few of the houses he passes, most of them run down and dirty. In such a prominent city of the time, it seemed unfair that only a few could live freely, and the rest were forced to work harder to still receive less. He hates to see the humans living in such poor conditions, so he always allows himself to help a little. Too much, and Heaven might call him out for it, meaning he could no longer continue.

This leads him into a rather shady part of the city – the slums, as most people say. He is too busy trying to decide what houses to bless and which ones to skip over to notice anything out of the ordinary, though. He ultimately decided on the best option, which is to just bless them all, using tiny blessings so it will slip by unnoticed.

As he passes a small, almost unseen alley, two men leap out of it and block him from continuing forward, holding long knives that would make any normal person fear for their life. Aziraphale, however, just sighs and looks around, finding four others have joined in to surround him on all sides.

“Give us your money,” one of the men spits, his rotting teeth all sorts of crooked.

“Oh my dear fellows, why would you attempt to rob me?” Aziraphale has never been one for physical violence, and doesn’t plan on starting anytime soon. Surely, there was a way to end this altercation without anyone getting hurt. Maybe he could even turn it into a lesson for them.

“Because we know you have money,” another man snarls.

“And because we need it.”

“There really is no need for this,” Aziraphale smiles, attempting to calm them all down. “You can’t profit off of any money I give you. You would spend it all immediately and then have to steal from even more people, which might cause more trouble for you in the long run. Stealing isn’t right, you really should consider–”

“Shut up!” One of the men thrashes out with his knife threateningly, accidentally grazing the back of Aziraphale’s hand. He covers the wound quickly as golden droplets start to rise to the surface, not wanting to draw attention to his unusual blood.

“Oh come now.” Aziraphale purses his lips, and his tone comes off as if he is lecturing them. “You honestly can’t make a living from stealing!”

“If you keep talking, we’ll take your money off of your corpse.”

Aziraphale frowns. He had given them every opportunity to repent, but their hearts were too black to see the light. When the first man lunges at him, Aziraphale dodges with practiced ease, and with a wave of his hand, all of the knives suddenly disappear. This confuses the humans, but before he can make his quick escape, one of them pushes Aziraphale and his leg gives out, causing him to fall to the ground.

A painful kick to his spine causes him to cry out, and then another forceful kick to the ribs, and then–

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

The tone gives Aziraphale chills – he has never once found himself scared of Crowley, but if there was ever the time for it, this would be it. He can’t even begin to imagine how the humans must feel now. The men stop kicking Aziraphale so he carefully removes his hands from his face – which he had covered to try and protect it - to watch what happens next.

“Why don’t you mind your own business!” A man calls out to him, but his voice cracks, betraying the terror he really feels.

Crowley walks slowly, deliberately, towards the small group. A glance at Aziraphale makes him snarl menacingly at the men; his white toga is now brown with dust and dirt and the small gold streaks on the back of his hand are glittering in the low light, causing Crowley’s anger.

“I was thinking about showing you mercy,” he sneers, stopping a mere foot away. “But I can’t forgive you for hurting my angel.”

Aziraphale closes his eyes, unable and unwilling to watch what Crowley does to the men. He’s seen what he has done for Aziraphale before, and he doesn’t like remembering. When soft, gentle hands are helping Aziraphale stand is when he opens his eyes again, the six men nowhere in sight.

“You didn’t have to,” Aziraphale starts as he stands, dusting himself off. 

“Whatever,” Crowley brushes off casually, but he is too busy looking over Aziraphale for any major injuries for it to be effective.

With a glance, Aziraphale allows the cut on his hand to heal before Crowley can do anything about it, but unfortunately, the gold still shimmers on his skin in the early morning light. “How did you even find me? I thought I left you asleep.”

Crowley gives a vague shrug, refusing to comment further. “What were you doing out here anyway? This is a notoriously bad part of the city, and yet here you are.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Yes, here I am, passing blessings upon those less fortunate because unlike most, I can’t turn a blind eye on human suffering.” He hastily adds, “That wasn’t meant at you, of course.” He takes a step forward to start back to the small building he currently owns, but he falters and grabs his leg, wincing as the familiar pang of an old wound spreads.

Crowley immediately grabs for him, a furious expression on his face. “What did they do to you?”

Aziraphale brushes it off with a wave, continuing to limp on as Crowley helps support him. “It’s nothing. Well, nothing they did. Just an old wound is all; must have been aggravated when they pushed me down.” After a few more unsteady limps, Crowley tuts and spreads his ash black wings, scooping up Aziraphale with ease before leaping into the sky and carrying the angel back to the building. 

“Oh, dear, that really wasn’t necessary,” Aziraphale says as Crowley sets him on the ground, straightening his toga.

“I wasn’t going to let you walk all the way back to your house with a limp, angel,” Crowley says. “Now take care of that wound before I come in and take care of it for you.” It was supposed to sound threatening, but even Crowley looks down at the ground after saying it, ashamed.

Aziraphale takes a few calming breaths to stop his beating heart, wishing Crowley could come back in. But they both know if they are around each other too much, there is a greater chance Heaven and Hell will find out about their meetings. He settles into a polite smile and says, “I will.”

Crowley nods and turns away, quickly escaping back into the streets of Rome. Aziraphale’s gaze lingers after him until he’s disappeared from sight before finally turning back inside to his desolate space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like old wounds, am I right? ;)


	4. Healed Those Great And Small

Aziraphale was absolutely delighted that Crowley made Hamlet popular for him. In his opinion, Shakespeare was a brilliant playwright, but with a terrible sense for casting. It wasn’t his fault that the actors didn’t know how to deliver his beautifully crafted soliloquies so that it sparked inspiration and awe in the hearts of the viewers.

He was even happier when Crowley agreed to accompany him to the theater a few times as well. They watched a number of shows at The Glove together: Romeo and Juliet, Othello, Macbeth; and Aziraphale adored every second of it.

They meet in the theater, as they usually do, up in the top balcony this time. They didn’t want to raise suspicion by meeting in the same exact spot. Aziraphale was delighted to fund out Crowley was actually somewhat interested in this play; he had not expected him to enjoy a historical dramatization, but Henry V is sure to be a remarkable show.

“I brought you these,” Crowley offers as he walks over to Aziraphale, handing him a bunch of perfectly oval-shaped grapes.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Aziraphale says as his eyes light up, taking them and immediately pulling one from its stem and popping it into his mouth.

“I heard they’re going to have some interesting props here tonight,” Crowley says, eyeing the crowds below to be sure there was no demon secretly hiding among them.

“Well I certainly hope so,” Aziraphale comments. “I do think the props help the rather dismal acting out quite well when Shakespeare’s casting is less than ideal.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow as he studies the angel. “I thought you were supposed to be nice and kind to everyone? Isn’t that what angels do?”

“I am nice and kind to everyone. But I’m allowed to critique as I like, and it’s not like the actors can hear me.” He pops another grape into his mouth.

Crowley’s answer is hushed quickly by Aziraphale as the show begins to a rather boisterous round of clapping when the first actor takes the stage. They go off, and come back out, and go off, and go into the crowd for a second – Crowley always has trouble focusing when everyone is constantly moving. It’s not like there’s any music playing. Just as the play starts to get interesting, Crowley smells the unmistakable scent of burning wood and thatch drifting from somewhere rather close after a cannon blast.

“Fire!” someone behind the stage yells, running out across it and scrambling through the crowds to get to the exit. It takes a few seconds for everyone else to react, but all at once, the audience erupts in crying and screaming as a mass exodus for the exit starts. Crowley and Aziraphale spare a brief glance at one another before hurrying off in different directions, the leftover grapes dropped and forgotten.

Orange flames lick the walls behind the stage as it starts to spread through the rest of the theater, spewing thick, black smoke as it billows into the bright, clear sky. Aziraphale uses a few miracles as he goes along trying to clear the top floor, while Crowley is doing similar things on the level below. A shrill shriek causes Crowley to turn in fear as he sees a little boy on the other side of the theatre, left behind in the frenzied escape and now trapped under a log as the building starts to fall apart.

Crowley pushes determinedly through the small crowd left and stops breathing, not wanting his body to be damaged from any smoke inhalation. He’s inhaled enough smoke in Hell to know it’s not pleasant. The boy whimpers when he sees Crowley approach, trying to pull himself free of the large timber. A quick shove from the demon causes the log to move off of the boy, whom Crowley quickly scoops up and protectively wraps his arms around.

The theatre is mostly empty by the time Crowley makes it down to the exit, pushing through the last of the humans and out into the sunlight. He finds Aziraphale standing amid a group of injured humans, all with varying degrees of burns.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” Aziraphale says. “I was starting to worry.”

Crowley leans over to set the child down, gently prying the boy’s arms from around his neck. He then crouches, barely hesitating before hovering his hand over his broken, burned leg, moving it slowly across his skin until everything is healed.

When he stands, Aziraphale looks at him with shock. He grits his teeth and says, “Obviously, healing them is demonic. I made Shakespeare popular, so the fire was trying to – ruin my work. Can’t have anyone hurt; that’ll ruin his reputation.”

Aziraphale smiles and blinks back tears, nodding. “Of course. Very demonic.”

Crowley moves through the rest of the injured crowd, healing burns and cuts, broken bones and bruises. It’s a natural instinct for him, really, though he’s not sure why. It seems rather unlike a demon to want to heal the injured, let alone be able to do it outside of a contract. If Hell notices and asks, though, he already has his excuse. Though he will need to make one up for Shakespeare then, too. Whatever. He’ll figure it out.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale focuses his energy on containing the fire. It has spread too far to salvage the theatre, but the humans were always good at rebuilding. He can at least make sure the fire doesn’t spread to the nearby buildings, ensuring that everyone is safe. He needs no excuse for a miracle such as this; obviously it is for the good of the humans to not let the entire city burn to the ground.

When Crowley finishes healing, resolutely ignoring their praises and gratitude, he stands next to Aziraphale, watching the rest of the Globe burn down. It is solemn, and Crowley knows how much Aziraphale loves the theatre, so he stands there with his friend in comfort.

A slight tugging on his pants causes Crowley to look down, and the young boy he had rescued is smiling up at him. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says.

“Don’t thank me–” Crowley starts to hiss, but the boy continues on without stop.

“My mother says you’re an angel. For healing all of us.”

He freezes, trying to keep the scowl from forming on his face. He certainly wasn’t an angel; but who was he to tell that to this kid?

“She said the angel Raphael is to thank for healing. So, thank you, Raphael!” The boy teeters off, back to his parents.

Crowley scowls into the flames, saying, “The angel Raphael, that’s just ridiculous. I’ve never even heard of an angel named Raphael. Why should he get the praise if he doesn’t exist?”

Aziraphale remains silent, staring at the flames as a small tear runs down his cheek.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original art post [here!](https://crystalphobic.tumblr.com/post/190448225493/my-first-work-for-the-good-omens-big-bang-this)


	5. Then They Opposed Us

“So you can miracle your clothes, but you can’t miracle yourself out of a literal life-threatening situation?”

“Oh, shut up,” Aziraphale says. He just wants to enjoy his crepes. The two of them are sitting together inside a nice little restaurant in Paris, far away from the mad crowds cutting the heads off of the aristocrats. It must have been a miracle for a place like this to still be open during the middle of a revolution.

“I think you really need to set your priorities straight is all.”

Aziraphale casts a longing glance at Crowley. “Heaven doesn’t understand my priorities.” They never will.

“Okay then, let’s look at the definition of frivolous. It basically means not having purpose or value. So, if they sent you a note saying you’re using too many frivolous miracles, it does not mean you can sit there and let yourself be executed, because that miracle has purpose and value! Honestly, they couldn’t say a small miracle is worse than having to give you a whole new body after you were discorporated.”

He takes a bite of his crepe and chews thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose–”

“What kinds of miracles were they deeming too frivolous anyway?”

Aziraphale frowns and thinks back to the note that had appeared in front of him not that long ago. He was lucky the humans helping him set up the bookshop weren’t around at the time. Or a certain demon, too, for that matter. On the front of the folded parchment was his name in the intricate script known only to be from Gabriel’s hand. He had unfolded the letter and read through it slowly, his frown growing deeper and deeper as he went along.

_Aziraphale,_

_I have reason to be concerned over your usage of miracles. It was brought to my attention that not all of them have been used to help the humans and to thwart the wiles of the evil doers. While we understand that Earth is a very dangerous place and you will need to use the occasional miracle on yourself, your list is rather frivolous. Miracling extra marshmallows on your hot cocoa every time you make it, for example, is not the kind of miracle you should be performing day to day. Miracling a child out of harm’s way is okay. But it is certainly not okay for you to continuously use memory restoration miracles on the demon known as Crowley. I know how you felt, so I am willing to overlook it on this occasion. But miracles can not undo something like that. Moreover, you should not be near him. Ever. Only if you need to thwart him is it allowed. He betrayed us when he Fell, Aziraphale. He chose his side. Consorting with the enemy is not something we allow angels to do. You have to forget him. The rest of us have._

_Archangel Gabriel_

“Oh, this and that,” he says, brushing the topic off. “You know how the higher-ups are.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow but otherwise lets the topic go. “Fucking archangels. Thinking they’re better than everyone else. Thinking they can boss everyone around without taking their feelings into consideration.”

Aziraphale suddenly gets defensive. “Not all of the archangels are bad.”

“Oh really? Let’s see.” He starts counting on his hand as he says each name. “Gabriel’s a dick. Michael’s a wanker. Uriel’s a prick. Sandalphon is a bully. Tell me, angel, what was that about them not being bad?”

He grimaces inwardly – he didn’t realize he had complained that often about his superiors. “There was a fifth one,” he says quietly, causing Crowley’s snappy expression to soften into curiosity.

“Was?”

Aziraphale nods soundlessly. He goes to take another bite of his crepe, but decides against it and sets his utensils down. “He, uh. He was nice.” He stares wistfully at a spot behind Crowley. “He was a – friend, if you’d believe it. A friend before the humans were even created. Oh, we had the loveliest times together, before the Fall.” He grows quiet as he continues to stare behind Cowley, a small smile still lingering on his face.

Crowley snaps his fingers in front of Aziraphale. “Oi. Earth to Aziraphale.”

He shakes his head slightly and blinks, focusing back on Crowley again and the frown now adorning his face. “Sorry, dear. Just got – lost in the memories, I’m afraid.”

“Mhmm.” Crowley purses his lips, unimpressed. “So, what happened to him?”

Aziraphale stares into the dark glasses for a few seconds before adverting his gaze. “No one’s really heard from him since – since the Fall. Some angels think he’s hidden himself away somewhere in heaven. Some think he Fell with the other demons. Sometimes, though, I think I still see him.” He frowns and looks down at his mostly-eaten crepe, suddenly not hungry anymore. “It could just be wishful thinking, though.”

“An archangel Falling?” Crowley whistles. Then he notices Aziraphale’s downcast look, and, to break the comfortable silence that has started to stretch between them, he says, “I’m sorry. Maybe… Maybe it’s time to move on? I don’t mean to be rude, but it sounds like your angel is gone. Sometimes, holding onto someone who left you like that does more harm than you think.”

Aziraphale looks away and blinks a few times, trying to keep his tears in. “I don’t think I can do that.”

Crowley nods in sympathy. “Everyone copes differently, angel. Just know – just know I’m here for you if you need it.” He reaches across the table and gently places his hand on top of Aziraphale’s in a gesture to show his support.

He chokes back a sob, using his free hand to cover his face as the tears start to fall, moving against his wishes and causing him to unravel. Crowley stays by his side as he lets Aziraphale cry it out, rubbing soothing circles onto the back of his hand. Maybe they’re right. Maybe he should let go of the past. It doesn’t seem like it will ever come back the way he expected, but he still has a chance to turn it around and focus on the future. On a new future. And really, if he can get it to work, not much would change. Just his name. Crowley.


	6. You Questioned, Appalled

“What the Heaven were you doing helping Nazis?”

Aziraphale sighs. “I thought I was helping to stop their crime ring. I didn’t know the woman was a Nazi too! She swindled me.”

“That’s because they’re Nazis. It’s what they do. Use the poor, innocent, _stupid_ people they can find and double-cross them.” He swerves the Bentley suddenly to avoid flying debris, hissing as he shifts his foot.

“Oh, I knew you would have been hurt from that. Running into a church, honestly!” He tuts as he shakes his head.

“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong here.” He grits his teeth as he swerves again, and Aziraphale instinctively reaches a hand out to the ceiling to hold him steady, eyes wide in panic.

“I can’t let you go home like this, Crowley, I can tell every shift as you’re driving hurts! That was consecrated ground for God’s sake! Pull over.”

“What? Now? There are literally bombs dropping on us, angel!”

“And they’ll be gone soon! The car won’t be harmed.” He adds a little miracle in his words. “Now, pull over!”

Crowley does so, pulling the car along the side of the road before throwing the stick into park and turning to Aziraphale. “Would you please explain what is going on?”

Aziraphale, however, does not. He opens the passenger door, picks up his bag of books, and steps out onto the ground, closing the door behind him and circling the car.

Opening his own car door, Crowley says, “Angel! What are you–” He is cut off suddenly as Aziraphale steps over to him, pulling him out of the car and holding him effortlessly in his arms, bridal style. Aziraphale uses his foot to close the car door, and one of Crowley’s arms immediately finds itself wrapping across Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Angel!”

“You’re refusing to recognize that you are hurt, so now, you must suffer the consequences.” He starts walking for the bookshop, watching the blush creep into Crowley’s face.

“Consequences?!” Crowley lets that sink in for a brief second. “You are not bloody carrying me the whole way back to the bookshop! Why are you doing this?”

“If you keep being so loud, dear, you might draw the attention of those in their houses.”

Crowley immediately closes his mouth, his cheeks flushing steadily further by the minute. Aziraphale continues to carry him through the streets, showing little to no effort at carrying him and the bag of books on his arm.

“How are you even carrying me? I’m not a feather, and neither are those books.”

“I was sent to guard the eastern gate of Eden for a reason, my dear.”

Crowley furrows his brow at the roundabout answer. “What does that even mean?”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself over.”

“I just asked you a question, not for your life story! Why do all if you angels hate questions?”

A pang of guilt rushes through his chest. “Maybe we saw those we cared about Fall because of questions.”

Crowley sombers, looking at Aziraphale’s steely blue eyes through his tinted glasses. “I’m sorry.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence; the occasional far off explosion rings out, but nothing else.

The bookshop door opens for the pair, though on whose accord, it’s not clear. Aziraphale carries Crowley into the back room, setting the books down on the table before placing Crowley on his usual couch. “Just sit here and elevate your feet. I’ll go get a bucket of ice and start some tea.” Because it was consecrated ground, it will need to heal properly, instead of just vanishing with a quick miracle.

Once Aziraphale is out of Crowley’s sight, he grabs his leg suddenly, a jolt of pain running through it. Right. He forgot about that. He must have been suppressing it for the walk back, but now, it’s coming full force. He limps into the kitchen, turning the kettle on and preparing a bucket for some ice. He leans against the counter and shifts his weight to his good leg to try and alleviate the pain. 

Crowley immediately notices, of course. Aziraphale comes back in bearing a tray with everything, trying to hide it, moving his books to the side so he can set it down before crouching to place the bucket under Crowley’s now bare feet, the soles red and blistered. As he slowly eases his feet into the icy water, he asks, “Why did you carry me if you were going to start limping again?”

Aziraphale settles carefully into his chair, pouring two cups of tea and making the one exactly the way Crowley likes it. Only then, he finally answers, “It was my choice, dear. You saved me at the church, so it was the least I could do.”

“But now you’re hurt, angel.”

He waves it away. “Pain is a temporary displeasure. I’d rather be hurt than you still driving and making your feet worse. That’s already going to take ages to heal.”

“And you can’t seem to heal yours at all. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. I saw it in Rome, too.” He searches Aziraphale’s face for a hint of anything, but he won’t meet Crowley’s gaze, pointedly sipping his tea instead. “Angel, what happened?”

A wave of images flash before Aziraphale’s eyes. Glints of orange and silver clashing against each other. Spatters of gold soaking through soft white fabric. An angry face, dotted with light and framed by long locks of a strikingly familiar red. Hands shaking, he sets his tea back down. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Crowley bites down another question as he sees the empty, distraught look in Aziraphale’s eyes. He holds in everything else he wants to say, too. _I’m sorry. I wish I could help. I wish you’d let me be close to you. I wish you’d lower your barriers._ Instead, he sips his tea, letting silence wash over the two.

“What were you doing near the church anyway?”

It startles Crowley, hearing a question from Aziraphale for once this evening. He doesn’t answer right away, trying to think on why he was there. He wasn’t quite sure himself. What did lead him to drive around the city today? To just happen to drive past the church and see Aziraphale going into it? To stop and wait, only to see a Nazi sneak in too? Why was he there at just the right time to save Aziraphale? Why is he always there at just the right time to save Aziraphale? “I was in the area,” he says with a shrug. “Saw those Nazis enter the church, then saw you go in later. Figured something was up.” He hopes it sounds convincing.

Aziraphale nods. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to let your feet heal.” _Please, stay with me forever._

“Thanks, angel.” _Please, let me stay forever._


	7. Which Caused You To Fall

Armageddon is approaching. Those 6000 years flew by fast. Together, he and Crowley help raise the antichrist so that they can try to stop everything through him. They’ve always balanced each other out, wherever they go, so maybe it can extend to the child as well. There are many long days and nights as they deal with Warlock, between chasing him around day after day and spending their nights fixing the garden that Aziraphale didn’t know how to take care of. He didn’t make plants; he doesn’t know how to take care of them. And Crowley didn’t, either, so he refuses to believe he needs to yell at them. Even if they seem to perk up after Crowley’s done.

Aziraphale found a new set of fond memories while he was there, though. Being around Crowley constantly for a few years would do that. He remembers a while ago when Aziraphale introduced him to his newest invention – glitter. Warlock got an extra treat from Aziraphale the day he got into the glitter and dumped it all over Crowley. Crowley was fuming, yes, but as Aziraphale reminded him, with a gentle tease, evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction. When he had come out into the sun, covered head to toe in glitter, it reminded Aziraphale of an old memory. Definitely worth the trouble he got into when Crowley found out about the treat. Crowley was supposed to be the one encouraging that behavior, and it wasn’t supposed to be aimed at Crowley.

The time came when Warlock was too old for a nanny, and they had to say their goodbyes. Aziraphale didn’t want to go – after being around Crowley so often again, it seemed his bookshop would be too quiet and desolate.

Not that he was able to spend much time there, of course. Before he knew it, it was Warlock’s eleventh birthday, and the hellhound didn’t show. To find out that they had raised the wrong child all these years throws a very large wrench into the plans – one large enough to ruin the plans entirely.

Scrambling to find the real antichrist in order to stop Armageddon, Aziraphale did some things he definitely regrets. Telling Crowley he never even liked him was for sure on the top of the list. It came out in a rush as they were arguing, but none of it was true. He was so heated, he had forgotten he had moved on from their past life. And even if he hadn’t, he could never dislike Crowley. Then, Crowley tried to get him to run away off into the stars. His ‘no’ wasn’t supposed to mean he’d pick Heaven over Crowley. It would always be Crowley. He just didn’t want to lose Earth, where he’s started a new collection of memories. Then he wouldn’t have anything happy left. And being off in the stars would only be a painful reminder of how much Crowley still hasn’t remembered.

By the time Aziraphale finally fixed his mistakes and showed up at the airbase in a borrowed body, he just wanted to kiss Crowley right then and there. He wasn’t quite sure Madame Tracy would like that, though, so he restrained himself, focusing on the task at hand. The real antichrist turns out to be a rather nice young boy, giving Aziraphale his body back and even stopping the Apocalypse. But there seems to be no hope in stopping Satan.

The ground beneath their feet trembles as Aziraphale looks down at Crowley, worried. 

“It was nice knowing you,” Crowley says, looking up at Aziraphale with a bittersweet look.

Aziraphale shakes his head. “We can’t give up now.”

“This is Satan himself. This isn’t about Armageddon. This is personal. We are _fucked_!” he yells, and thoughts start flashing through Aziraphale’s head. All the good times he’s spent on Earth with Crowley. All the feelings he holds for him, still bottled up since Eden. All the things he wanted to say, but can’t. Hasn’t. Wouldn’t. He realizes now that Crowley might not remember anything from before, and he might not ever, but they’ve built a new life here, together, and nothing can take it away from him now.

Aziraphale bends over and picks up his old sword, the weight a familiar pain in his hands. “Come up with something, or–” his face breaks into a pleading look. “Or I’ll never talk to you again.” He never could truly swing that sword. Especially not on Crowley.

His heart flutters when Crowley looks up at him with fear in his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air and stopping time.

It’s peaceful here, especially compared to the chaos of Satan crawling up from the depths of Hell. The thought of confessing to Crowley now crosses his mind, but when he looks over and sees him putting a new pair of sunglasses on, he knows their time here is limited. They would need to act fast before they were forced back to Earth. He can wait. If everything works, he’ll have all the time in the world to say something. There is still Agnes’ last prophecy to decipher as well. But the time will come for everything else. As Aziraphale looks over to Crowley one last time, he nods to himself, sure he’s made the right decision.

Everything did work out, eventually. Adam got rid of Satan, made the Youngs his real parents, and set the world back in order. Aziraphale even got his bookshop back, though he would have gladly settled to only have Crowley. Heaven and Hell trying to kill them was certainly unexpected, but Agnes helped with that. And the Ritz always has the best desserts.

Crowley swirls his glass of champagne around in his hand, looking down at it thoughtfully. “Hey, angel. Can I ask you a question?”

Aziraphale sits his fork down to give Crowley his undivided attention. “Of course, my dear.”

There’s a pause as Crowley tries to think of what to say. “Gabriel brought up the archangel Raphael. While I was – While I was up there.”

He blinks. “Oh.”

“You, uh. You two were close, huh?”

Aziraphale nods, biting his lip. He had planned to tell Crowley how he felt after he was done eating, but now; now it feels like the wrong moment. Especially since he doesn’t know what Gabriel said.

“I’m sorry he left you.”

The hint of jealousy in his complacent voice hangs in the air as Aziraphale tries to rectify the situation. “I– He– It wasn’t– What I mean is–” He sighs and gives up. “Thanks.”

He stares at the fork resting on his plate, opening and closing his hands as his brain runs away from him. So much for telling Crowley how he feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh don't worry - it might be after armageddon now, but this isn't stopping any time soon!


	8. You Forgot Your Love

After Armageddon, Crowley finds himself hanging around the bookshop a lot more than usual. If anyone asked, he’d say he just isn’t fond of his apartment anymore – he had killed Ligur there for one, and he never felt like he really lived there. This is true, sure, but only partially. The other part – the other part he can’t voice out loud. Not anymore. Maybe, in the future, if Aziraphale lets him, he can bring his plants over here and sell the apartment. He always felt more at home here anyway.

Aziraphale has still not told Crowley anything. How does he even begin to explain something like that when he’s waited so long? It seems he’s waited too long, since Crowley now knows too much, even if it’s the wrong facts.

Crowley sometimes spends his days in his snake form, slithering across the floor, or across bookshelves, or wrapping himself around a book some customer seemed a little too interested in. Until they saw a snake wrapped around it, of course. Then they weren’t interested in anything but running and screaming. He did it to help Aziraphale out, so he did not have to kick out every single customer by himself in increasingly innovative and ludicrous ways.

More often than not, however, Aziraphale would find him asleep somewhere in the shop – sprawled across the couch, coiled on top of a lamp; if Crowley was tired, he could fall asleep anywhere. Which happens to be the case now.

_“Aziraphale!” he yells, tears streaming down his face. He was way too far away for the angel to ever hear him – Hell is certainly not going to send any messages up to Heaven. That’s a funny word; Hell. It didn’t exist a while ago, but it does now. The pool of boiling sulfur he landed in is not helping matters either – it burns through his body, stripping him of anything remotely angelic. He can feel the heat in his eyes, and his arms scream in pain like a thousand needles are poking him all at once – the stars are burning out. The wings stay, but they burn too; he doesn’t think the black will ever come out. “Aziraphale!” he cries, struggling to stay on top of the pool. He doesn’t want to go; he can’t spend the rest of eternity without his angel._

_A pair of hands grab him from behind, pulling him down into the sulfur. “No!” he screams, prying them off, but another pair joins their effort, then another, and another, and all that’s left above the surface of the bubbling grayish-yellow liquid is his head, which shoots one last pleading look to a sky blocked out by thick plumes of black smoke. He hears a hissing noise when the hands finally pull him under – or is he making the hissing noise? He can’t tell. He struggles still against the hands that pull him deeper and deeper, until one of them hits the side of his head, hard, causing his vision to go blurry before fading entirely._

Crowley hears a stack of books falling and a shrill scream before the bookshop doors slam shut.

“What on Earth–” Aziraphale starts, coming around a bookshelf to see Crowley sprawled across a pile of books. “Oh, dear, what happened?”

The sign on the front door flips to closed on its own accord as Aziraphale helps Crowley off of the ground.

“I was napping, uh, up there,” he gestures vaguely to the top of the bookshelf. “Snake form.”

“And now you’re here, in human form.” Pursing his lips, Azirpahale asks, “How dd you change from snake form to human while asleep?”

Crowley shrugs and Aziraphale finally lets go of him, leaning over to start picking up the mess of books. Without the angel to lean on, Crowley shifts to leaning heavily on a nearby bookshelf, running a hand through his hair as he tries to calm down his breathing. He doesn’t even need to breathe; he should be able to just turn it off, but the memory is too overwhelming for him to focus.

“Angel… did we know each other?”

Aziraphale freezes in the middle of shelving a book, eyes wide. He shakes it off, seconds later, pushing the book into place as he says, “We’ve known each other for 6000 years now, dear, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Angel, please.” He heaves another breath. “Please don’t make me ask again.”

Aziraphale continues to stare at the bookshelf, but he finally sighs and gives the slightest of nods; one easily missed if Crowley had not been resolutely staring at him, waiting for an answer.

Crowley’s breathing grows strenuous again and his hand finds a permanent place in his hair as he slides down the bookshelf, sitting hard on the floor.

“It was a memory, then? You fell asleep and remembered something, and it startled you awake.” He has to focus to keep his voice steady.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I–”

“Please.”

Aziraphale gulps, finally abandoning the books to turn and face Crowley. “Why do you think? You stand there at the wall of Eden, looking almost exactly as you always have, but you didn’t recognize me. I thought maybe since you were a demon you changed; moved on. Then, you wait for a few days before telling me you lost your memory. So you had an excuse, yes, but how was I supposed to bring it up when I wasn’t even sure the being I love was there anymore! How does one even go about trying to give people back what feels like years and years of memories other than trying to create new ones, trying to reshape and reform the relationship we once had–”

“Did you say… love?” Crowley interrupts weakly. “As in, present tense?”

Aziraphale’s eyes grow wide and he stammers, “Did – was that something you saw?”

Crowley wordlessly shakes his head.

He sighs and blows a stream of air through his lips, calming himself down. “Oh. Well, I guess… I guess as in, always tense. Ever since we first met, back in Heaven. Ever since–” He cuts himself off, looking anywhere but Crowley.

“An always thing? But what about Raphael? I thought Gabriel said–” Realization dawns in Crowley’s eyes. “No. You don’t mean…”

Aziraphale nods, biting his lip.

Crowley reaches up and uses the bookshelf to get back to his feet, carefully wobbling over to Aziraphale. He gently reaches out to cup Aziraphale’s face, turning it so they can look at each other. “Hey, look at me. I – I love you too, angel. Since Eden; it was like… love at first sight. Maybe I did remember it, in a way. If I had known, I might have – no, I don’t know what I would have done. But I know what I want to do now.” He closes the small distance between them and presses his lips against Aziraphale’s, interlocking perfectly with each other as if they were made to be together. The kiss is tender, sweet, and, after a few seconds, wet from Aziraphale’s tears.

Crowley pulls away when he feels them, concerned, but Aziraphale is one step ahead of him, answering his question before he can open his mouth. “It’s nothing, my dear, it’s just – I’ve waited so long for this moment to happen, I think I was starting to lose hope.”

“I’m sorry I made you wait this long.” he cradles Aziraphale in his arms as he lets him cry. “I’m sorry my blasted memories never came back. None of the ones about you, at least.”

Aziraphale sniffs. “So how did you know?”

Crowley looks down at Aziraphale’s tartan bow tie; it’s one of the few Crowley gifted him once he started wearing them. “It was that memory today, I–” he hesitates on repeating everything, so Aziraphale doesn’t worry, but considering the last thing he hid was his love and it turned into this, he thinks it’s best to just not use too much detail. “I remembered after the Fall. Trying to keep myself above the surface in a pool of boiling sulfur. I was calling out your name. That’s all. Then the demons took my memories.” The dream did not include that part, but he knew it was true, somewhere deep within him. “It was probably because I kept struggling against them as I yelled your name.”

Aziraphale buries his face in Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around the angel; his angel. He could say that now.

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale whispers, clinging onto him tightly as the love he had repressed for millennia comes pouring out like a broken dam.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley ventures, rubbing soothing circles across his back, “Would you mind – could you remind me of who I was? To you?”

Aziraphale moves his head to look at Crowley again. “Are you sure? You don’t want to wait to see if they’ll come back?”

“Angel, I waited for over 6000 years for even a remote mention of you in a memory, and the only reason I know my own name is because of you. I don’t want to wait for them for another 6000 when there isn’t a guarantee I’ll ever get them back. It might jog my memory. Besides, it’ll sound nicer to hear it from you.”

With a soft smile and a nod, Aziraphale murmurs, “Okay.” They wordlessly split apart, but their hands still find a way to stay together. The curves of their palms fit perfectly against each other as they walk over to the couch in the back room. Normally Crowley would have the couch and Aziraphale would sit in his chair, but after pining for so long, they can’t stand to be separated right now, so Aziraphale sits down on the couch and Crowley lays across it, resting his head in Aziraphale’s lap.

“I want to hear all of it,” Crowley says as he looks up into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“All of it? That is a rather long story, my dear.”

“I’m not going anywhere else. The only place I have to be is here, with you. So yes, all of it. Beginning to Fall.”

Aziraphale sighs and nods, his hand subconsciously moving to thread through Crowley’s hair. “It all started in the garden. Heaven wasn’t always the top floor of an office building.”


	9. We Met In The Garden

Aziraphale is relaxing under the shade of a great willow tree near a small, winding river running through the garden. This is the place God let the angels be free to design anything they wanted as preparations began for the creation of the Earth. Most angels lacked the creativity and imagination to do more than trees and flowers - Aziraphale still remembers meeting a platypus for the first time – so the garden is usually empty, other than the plants.

He’s watching a raft of ducks swim around in the crystal blue water, searching for food. He was rather fond of his creation, so when they spotted him and hurried out of the water to waddle over, he wasn’t surprised.

“Hello there!” he laughs as the ducks start quacking, a bright smile plastered on his face. He starts to stroke his fingers through their feathers when they come into reach, cleaning out the leaves and petals tangled in them from the constant shedding of the nearby greenery. The ducks could do it themselves, but Aziraphale finds it nice to smooth their feathers back into place, just as he occasionally does with is own, and the ducks never complain.

Since he is preoccupied with this raft of ducks, and the willow’s branches constantly sway in the light breeze, he didn’t notice another angel walking nearby, pausing down the river to look at another paddling of ducks, this one consisting of a mother and several ducklings. In fact, Aziraphale doesn’t notice him until he hears a disgruntled yell.

He gets up quickly and hurries over to the angel with the long, curly red hair who is currently trying to shake one of the ducks off of his leg, where its beak is clamped tight.

“Come now,” Aziraphale says, as he kneels down, gently coaxing the mother to let go before releasing her back to her ducklings in the river. He stands and addresses the other angel. “I’m so sorry about that. The mothers can be quite protective over their young.”

“It’s alright,” the angel answers with a smile, straightening his robe back out. Small star-like dots adorn his arms, and when his gold eyes turn to look into Aziraphale’s, he can see they adorn his face as well, specifically his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “You created them, then?”

Aziraphale smiles, excited someone seems interested in them. “I did! I thought they would be lovely peaceful creatures that the humans could watch and feed. The idea of sitting near a pond or river, with a few ducks quacking nearby, it seems relaxing.”

“Peaceful, right,” the angel mutters. “Every time I’ve been over here, they keep attacking me.”

Aziraphale frowns slightly. “Well then, perhaps you’re taking the wrong approach.” With a blink, his hand is full of seed, which he holds out to the other angel. He cups his hands together to allow Aziraphale to pour some of the seed into them. “You just have to be gentle with them,” Aziraphale says, crouching down on the riverbank and holding his hand out toward the duck. The mother uses her beak to push her ducklings over to him, who then start to eat the seed out of his hand, quacking and trying to push the others out of their way to get food.

Next to him, the other angel carefully joins him, shakily holding his hands just above the water. One of the ducklings notices and swims over, eating from his pile of seed instead. He laughs, and more ducklings start to come over, quacking and eating to their heart’s content. He looks over once he runs out of seed to see Aziraphale cradling a duckling in his hand, running gentle fingers down its soft yellow plumage.

“Here,” Aziraphale says, holding the duckling out.

With wide eyes and careful hands, the other angel takes the duckling from Aziraphale, smiling when it looks up at him and quacks. He runs his fingers over its plumage a few times before returning it to the water, watching it swim back over to its mother.

“Oh, dear, how silly of me,” Aziraphale says. “My name is Aziraphale. Probably should have done introductions sooner, but the ducks are always distracting.”

“Principality, eh? I’m Raphael.”

His eyes grow wide. “You don’t mean – you’re an–”

“Archangel? Yes. The very same.”

He gulps. “I’m sorry my creation attacked you.”

“Nonsense, it makes complete sense. Who knows what could be out there on the Earth; they need to defend themselves.” He pauses as he watches the ducks swim away, peaceful in the sluggish river. “Can I show you something of mine?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

Raphael takes Aziraphale by the hand and spreads his wings. Aziraphale follows suit, and as soon as his wings are unfurled they leap into the sky, flying out into the vast universe, still mostly empty.

“I’ve never been out here,” Aziraphale says as he watches Heaven grow smaller and smaller behind them. He has never been this far away from Heaven in general; it’s strange to see it shrink, knowing it’s just a small part of the universe.

“The archangels are responsible for out here,” Raphael says. “So that doesn’t surprise me. Gabriel doesn’t send many others outside of Heaven. I’m really the only one doing anything out here, even at that.”

Aziraphale squints as something starts to appear in the distance, straining his eyes to try and make out what it is. The flap of Raphael’s wings starts to slow.

“Wow,” Aziraphale marvels as they stop, wings beating gently to keep them afloat in the empty ocean of space. He stares at the vast nebula in front of them, swirling with its blues and reds and yellows and covered in glittering stars. “You made this?”

Raphael smiles as he watches the angel’s reaction. “I like the stars. I hope the humans do too, someday. They’re rather inspiring, if I do say so myself.” He turns his gaze to the nebula as Aziraphale turns his head to look at him, and he catches the starlight glittering in the archangel’s eyes. He realizes now that the gold dots freckling Raphael’s skin are not star-like, but actual stars caught on his skin as he was busy placing them across the universe. Something in his chest flutters and he averts his gaze, focusing once again on the nebula as Raphael starts to talk about how he made it, their hands still anchored together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't think the pining would be over after the last chapter... there's still more story to tell!!


	10. Your Love Was Strong

It was a while before the two angels met again. Seeing as they were both different ranks, they were lucky for their paths to have crossed the once. The other archangels were far too focused on other things regarding the creation to spend anything on trivial matters, including being in the garden or talking to lesser angels.

Raphael can’t keep his mind from straying to Aziraphale though. He spins galaxies into existence, he dots the sky with strategically placed stars, and yet Aziraphale’s face still finds its way into his mind, fighting past the things he has yet to create.

He finds his way to the garden again when he has a break. Gabriel had suggested he visit, actually, because Gabriel was nothing if not slightly vain. Raphael had seen the platypus before. He told Gabriel he should stick to bossing the angels around.

The beaver-tailed mammal swims awkwardly in the river, and if when Raphael settles down on the bank, he causes the river to flow a touch faster so the platypus ends up downstream, no one is there to see. Soft quacking causes him to look over to the side as a raft of ducks waddles quickly over to him. He smiles as one of the ducklings speeds past his mother, jumping up into his lap and quacking at him excitedly. The rest of the ducklings quickly follow suit, so Raphael’s lap is full of the soft circles jumping up and down and quacking, causing him to laugh. The mother observes from his side.

Aziraphale decides he quite likes Raphael’s laugh. How they happened to both be in the garden together again is beyond him, but he still sent the ducks over anyway. He thought it would help lighten the strange mood Raphael seemed to be in, and it seemed to have worked. The stars glitter on his skin as Aziraphale watches for a few minutes before mustering up the courage to walk over to him. 

“Oh, hi, Aziraphale!” Raphael calls when he notices him approaching. “Fancy running into you again, eh?”

He smiles in return. “It certainly is remarkable to be graced with your presence again. May I?”

He nods, gesturing to the ground next to him with his head. Aziraphale sits, joining Raphael on the bank and sticking his bare feet into the cool water. Another one of his recent creatures swims around him, its green legs propelling the shell containing its body forward – a turtle, he had named it.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Raphael says, currently occupied with the task of picking up each individual duckling, holding and petting it for a few seconds, then depositing it back in his lap and picking up the next excited blur.

“Of course not.”

“What is it exactly that you do? I mean, I know you created these little feather balls of energy, but it seems to me that you’re in the garden a lot.”

“I don’t really have much to do, honestly,” he sighs. “As a principality, I’m in charge of a whole slew of angels. I get my orders from Gabriel, and then I divide them amongst the angels, and then, nothing. Sometimes I help them, sometimes I flitter from group to group to make sure everything is going well, but they pretty much have it on their own. Hence, the garden. And the ducks.” He reaches down into the water and pulls the turtle out. “And now, these things.”

Raphael sets the last duckling down to examine the turtle closer, now hiding in its shell. “It looks like a rock. A rock with a fancy pattern on it.”

“It’s a defense mechanism! If they feel threatened, they can pull their appendages into the shell, disguising themselves as rocks. I thought it was a rather good idea, and it makes up for the more violent tendencies of the ducks.” Speaking of which, now that Raphael’s attention has switched, the ducklings are unhappily leaving his lap and following their mother back into the water.

“Well, maybe we’ll just have to make one that snaps at people’s legs,” he teases.

Aziraphale laughs. “A – a snapping turtle!”

“Is that what you’ve named them? Turtles?”

He nods. The poor turtle he’s holding is still hiding in its shell, probably scared when it was suddenly pulled from the water and is now seemingly levitating in the air. He holds it out to Raphael so he can see it better. Their fingers brush as he takes a gentle hold of it, and Aziraphale pulls his hands back rather quickly. Raphael raises an eyebrow, but before he can get a word out, Aziraphale reaches back out to gently stroke its shell, imbuing a little heavenly influence into it so the turtle will come back out.

Its head comes out first, cautiously scanning the environment, and Raphael watches with wonder as the rest of the turtle comes back out. Once Aziraphale stops, Raphael picks up where he left off, running fingers over the cool, rigid shell before leaning over and gently placing it back on the water, watching it swim off.

“Oh dear, is that a platypus?” Aziraphale says suddenly, causing Raphael’s attention to snap away from the turtle. The animal is slowly but surely swimming back upstream, and its target seems to be the ducks.

“Not on my watch,” he growls, suddenly sticking his feet into the water as he stands and splashing his way through the river.

“Oh!” Aziraphale quickly follows, the hem of his robe soaked after only a few seconds. Raphael has it worse – the entire front of his robe is wet and full of the ducklings once again, but the mother is giving him issues. Aziraphale handles her, picking her up and stroking her feathers to calm her down as he follows Raphael the rest of the way to the shallow end of the river, where they walk together plenty far from the platypus before finally returning the ducks to the water. The mother quacks indignantly at them before running a headcount and swimming off with her children, away from the platypus.

“Well, that was a thing,” Raphael laughs, looking up at Aziraphale across from him.

“Yes, it rather…” Aziraphale trails off, having looked up to see just how close the two of them are. If they had a need to breathe, or even knew what breathing was yet, they’d be sharing the same breath. Just the smallest of spaces separated their faces, and it would hardly take any effort to push into one another, connecting with each other. “Was,” he finishes, astounded.

Raphael straightens back up and steps out of the river, where he starts to wring out his robe. “Did you know the platypus is a carnivore? My brother Gabriel invented them. Probably the only point he stopped doing his duties. They’re just – extremely peculiar.”

Aziraphale stays in the river, watching as the ducks swim further and further away. “Is that why you did that?”

“They’re children,” Raphael shrugs. “I can’t just sit around when there’s a chance children could die.” He looks up to the sky with a frown, saying, “I should get back to the stars before Gabriel complains I’m taking too long with them again. He just lacks the brain to appreciate the subtle art of star placement. I’ve been working on placing them at just the right angles so they make shapes for the humans to see.”

“It sounds lovely. Remind me to try and see them again.”

He winks. “I’ll bring you with me at any chance, angel.” He retreats into the maze of trees and flowers, the invitation still hanging in the air. Unsure of what it means, Aziraphale doesn’t follow. Instead, he turns back around to cross the river once more, stepping out on the opposite river bank. As he dries his robe, he thinks he should ask someone about his form; he doesn’t think his incorporeal figure should allow him to feel hammering in his chest and fluttering in his abdomen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through my extensive platypus research because it was meant as a joke that kept coming back, I found out that they're carnivores. Do with that what you will.


	11. Protector Of The Universe

Raphael finds Aziraphale the next chance they meet. And this one isn’t an accident. He had been searching for the principality after receiving exciting news from his brother, hoping to share it like Aziraphale had shared his creations.

Aziraphale was instructing a group of angels on what their next duties were when a ripple of whispers erupted from them, giving him pause before he turned around. Standing there and leaning against one of the great white pillars is Raphael, his hair spilling over his shoulder and standing out against the stark white of everything else.

“Archangel Raphael,” Aziraphale greets, bowing his head slightly. A small smile also fights its way onto his face. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I’ve been looking for you, angel. But I see you’re currently busy, so it can wait.”

Aziraphale nods and turns back around, pursing his lips as the other angels either stare in shock or giggle at him. “Might I continue?”

Once they understand what they need to do, Aziraphale sets them free, making sure they all leave before he turns back to Raphael, who hasn’t moved an inch.

“I heard about a little something from Gabriel, and I wanted to see if you’d want to check it out with me.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale says, fighting down the blush on his cheeks. “What is it?”

Raphael winks. “Guess you’ll just have to come and see, won’t you?” He walks over and holds out his hand.

Aziraphale takes it with only the barest trace of hesitation, and he finds himself leaping into the sky again as they fly away together. They don’t travel quite as far out into space as their last visit, so they can still see Heaven when Raphael stops them.

“What is this?” Aziraphale asks, staring at the swirling pinwheel of stars laid out before them.

“It’s called a galaxy,” Raphael says excitedly. “There are loads of them. Each galaxy contains millions of millions of stars, and even a few planets. But this galaxy is the special one. Made it myself, almost every piece. The others wouldn’t even dream of being this special.”

“Is this where the Earth is going?” Aziraphale asks.

With a smile, Raphael points to a seemingly random star in the distance. “That’s the Sun. I know, it just looks like a normal star, and it is. But it’s going to keep the Earth in orbit while providing it with light and giving the plants nourishment. I even heard it’s going to help the humans create this thing called ‘time.’ They sound brilliant, from what I’ve heard.”

“How are you so sure that star is this ‘Sun’? No offense, but they all look the same to me. Not that they aren’t beautiful! I just–”

Raphael cuts him off with a soft laugh. “It’s okay Aziraphale. It takes a trained eye to tell. Come on, I’ll give you a closer look.” He tilts forward as they start to fly again, stars giving way to planets giving way to Earth’s atmosphere, the freshly made ozone still whole. They land in the coarse sand, feet sinking slightly as the Sun envelops them in its warm rays.

“Still brand new,” Raphael says as he kicks the sand around. “Heard the Almighty is going to put a garden around here somewhere, but She’s still testing some things before she does.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale says. “I can imagine it all. Tall palm trees, small carnations…”

“Ducks and turtles swimming nearby?”

He smiles. “Ducks and turtles swimming nearby. Oh, this place is going to be just lovely once it’s finished.”

“You can check it out some more, if you’d like. There isn’t much other than the sand, I’m afraid. Sand and empty oceans. But I heard there were a few other things.”

“That sounds like you aren’t coming with,” Aziraphale frowns.

Scratching the back of his neck, Raphael admits, “Okay, okay. I’m supposed to check on this comet nearby, to make sure its path doesn’t cross Earth’s, but I wanted to show you this. If you don’t mind me stepping out? I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Of course, I don’t want to interrupt your duties.”

He winks and says, “Back in a flash,” before spreading his wings and leaping up into the air, doing a few loops to show off before disappearing behind a cloud.

Aziraphale sighs and looks back around, squishing the sand between his toes as he looks for anything interesting. Something moving catches his eye in the distance, and before he knows it, his feet are carrying him in that direction.

Upon approach, he sees that the moving object is actually a creature; a beast almost as large as he is with a long, shaggy mane and sharp teeth. He briefly wonders what the name of the creature is before it turns to look at him, a ferocious look in its eyes that freezes him to the spot.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, holding his hands up in a placating manner as it stalks towards him. The garden in Heaven doesn’t have many aggressive animals, so he doesn’t know what to do – he thinks the most aggressive animal he had met was the platypus. A low, rumbling growl escapes the creature’s throat, snarling as its white teeth gleam in the sunlight. Aziraphale subconsciously takes a step back.

“I’m honestly not a threat. I don’t think you can meet anyone less threatening than me!” He’s unsure if the beast can hurt him, but he doesn’t want to find out now. He frowns and tries to calm it down with some angelic persuasion, but its steps continue to look threatening, and Aziraphale takes a few more steps back before tripping and falling over into the sand.

When it crouches low on its hind legs, just about to pounce, a blur of white and a flash of red lands in between the two, and Raphael throws his arms out to keep Aziraphale safe. Startled by the archangel’s appearance, the creature pauses, delaying its jump just long enough for Raphael to make a distraction.

He pulls a sphere from out of thin air – a small orb of light, glittering like a disco ball, but if the light also came out of the disco ball and wasn’t just reflected off. The creature’s eyes latch onto the shiny new object, following it around as Raphael tosses it to and fro between his hands. Finally, he catches it and throws it behind the creature, who leaps up to try and catch it before chasing after it as it twinkles out.

Now that the imminent threat is gone, Aziraphale stands and brushes the sand off of himself, saying, “Thank you, dear. I was afraid of what might have happened if it had reached me.”

“I leave you alone for a moment and you immediately run into danger.” Raphael turns and looks over him with concern. Are you okay?”

“Of course! No harm done here.” He pauses. “How did you know that would work?”

He shrugs as he grows closer to Aziraphale, still looking him over to make sure he isn’t hurt. “Dull animal, shiny object… I figured it would work. Works on Gabriel.”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “You really shouldn’t insult him like that.”

Raphael shrugs it off with a wave. “He’s my brother, I’m allowed to say what I want about him. What’s he going to do, kick me out of Heaven?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. There is nowhere other than Heaven, and I don’t think She would let an archangel stay on Earth.”

He considers this, thinking, then shrugs it off again. “Whatever. Shall we head back? I think you had enough of a thrilling experience for one day.”

Aziraphale takes Raphael’s hand. “What’s a day?”

“No idea.” Their wings stretch out and they jump back into the atmosphere, flying their way back to Heaven.


	12. Reviving With Song

Aziraphale found himself to actually be busy for a while after that, helping the angels try to figure out what exactly God meant when she told them to put fake skeletons deep under the surface of the Earth. The instructions were hard to follow, even for him, and it didn’t make much sense. Well, first, he had to explain to most of them what a skeleton even is. Once they finally understood, it took a couple of examples to really get the ball rolling. Aziraphale had shown them the model for his ducks and turtles, and Gabriel even offered his model of a platypus skeleton when he heard they needed help. He and the angels sat down together and brainstormed ideas, and eventually, the angels finally started to create the dinosaur skeletons once Aziraphale had made one for a dryosaurus as one final example.

Finally alone after leaving the angels to their own devices so they can start and finish the rest of the ‘dinosaurs’, Aziraphale stops to take a deep breath and runs his hand down his face.

“Something bothering you, angel?”

“Raphael,” he smiles, turning around to face him only to be met with a bright, glittering, and vaguely angel shaped mass. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He looks down at his arms. “Oh, sorry. Stardust gets everywhere, I’m afraid. It doesn’t like to leave.” He brushes himself off, the cloud at his feet gaining a layer of shine as the stardust settles.

“I see you’ve been busy making new stars?”

He nods. “I heard Gabriel forced you and a group of your angels to see that abomination of a skeleton he gave the platypus.”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “Honestly, I don’t know how that thing functions properly. The beak isn’t even fully a part of the skull!”

“That’s Gabriel for you,” Raphael says, dusting his shoulders to try and get the last of the stardust off. “When all you do is boss other angels around, you really don’t know how anything works. You at least try to help your angels, so you know what’s happening. He told me he was thinking about making something called an Echidna and frankly, I’m afraid to know what it’s going to look like.” he makes an attempt to brush the stardust from his hair, but it clings tightly, so he gives up quickly. “Anyway, I just finished another star system and have no more instructions at the moment, so, fancy another trip back to Earth?”

“And get attacked by another lion?” He had found its name since the last visit.

“There’s no lions in Eden, angel. Construction on the garden started, so there’s walls blocking out all the hostile animals. I think you’ll like it.” He extends his hand as he always does, and it’s all too easy for Aziraphale to give in, flying back through the universe together.

As they approach Earth, the bright green spot in the middle of the dull brown desert wasteland sticks out like a sore thumb, and they land right in the middle of it. The stone walls stand tall as they surround the area, imposing on the luscious garden forming. A waterfall roars against the far wall, and a couple trees dot the ground as the creation is in progress. A couple of birds chatter high in the branches above, and various other creatures dart around in the lush grass below.

“Oh!” Aziraphale says, crossing his eyes in surprise to look at the butterfly that landed there.

“That means you’re sweet, if the butterfly landed on you,” Raphael says, smiling. “Michael made them, so they told me that.”

Aziraphale watches it fly off again, settling in a newly bloomed flower nearby. “This place is wonderful. I do hope the humans enjoy it.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“What is that?” he asks, pointing to a strange gray thing twisting around the base of a tree.

“Would you look at that,” Raphael mutters, leaning over to let the thing slither into his hand and start to wind itself around his arm. “I made this one, actually. Wanted to try my hand at making creatures, so I made a couple different types of snakes.”

“Does that – thing – snake – even have a skeleton?”

“It has a really really really really really long spine, with ribs attached. It has a skull too, though its jaw can unhinge to fit more into its mouth. Probably like – twice its size.”

Aziraphale looks horrified. “That sounds terrifying! Really, skulls shouldn’t be able to work that way. No offense, but you should really stick to the stars, dear.”

Rolling his eyes, Raphael says, “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Not as cute as your little ducklings.” His gaze then zeroes back in on the snake. “Oh, you poor thing, are you hurt?” He coddles the snake, looking over the cut along its side. “Rosebush, I bet. Those thorns will always get you. Sandalphon can’t make anything without it being threatening.” He hums softly and runs his hand along the gash, fusing skin and scales back together.

Once it’s fully healed, he leans down to the ground and lets the snake slither back into the underbrush. He stands back up and gestures with his head towards the waterfall. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Together, they walk closer and closer to the misting waterfall. Aziraphale lights up even more when a familiar quacking sounds from the pond the waterfall is spilling into. A raft of ducks waddles onto the shore, running their beaks through their feathers as they preen.

“Oh, they made it to Earth! Isn’t that just lovely?”

Raphael just smiles at him. “They’re not the only ones, angel.” He gestures across the pond, where some turtles are sunbathing on the smooth rocks.

Aziraphale beams as he stares at them. He then turns his gaze to the still smiling Archangel, and his breath gets caught in his throat as he watches the sun glitter off of Raphael’s star freckles, even though angels don’t need to breathe, and he’s never really breathed before.

Raphael notices and locks eyes with Aziraphale. They grow wider and his mouth forms a soft “oh” before he is suddenly leaning in closer and closer as he crashes their faces together, lips pressing hard against each other before they pull apart.

“I’m sorry–” Raphael starts, eyes wide in fear as Aziraphale gently brushes his lips with his fingers.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale interrupts. “It was – nice.”

“Oh.” His cheeks flush pink.

“What would you call it?”

He purses his lips in thought. “A kiss,” he decides. “To show affection. Or – love.”

“A kiss,” Aziraphale repeats, tasting the word on his lips. “Can we do it again?”

Raphael smiles warmly. “Of course.”

He leans in, slower this time, and they embrace each other in a softer kiss, wings stretching out to encircle the other.


	13. Friends Turned On Friends

Love. Love exists in Heaven, as all angels are supposed to love every creature, great and small. They also have to love God, and She loves them back. This love, however, was not intended to extend to other angels, for then this love might outgrow their love of God.

Aziraphale and Raphael don’t care. Punishment hasn’t been invented yet, so they have no idea what ‘getting into trouble’ could mean. They know they love each other, and they know the other angels will never understand. That’s why they try to keep meeting in secret. They can’t get away without someone knowing, of course, when they both have important jobs, but they can at least stay away from the angels when they meet.

God knows, of course. No matter how secretive they are; no matter how well-hidden their meeting is, She knows. But She doesn’t stop them. What are the angels but Her first creatures? Their love should extend to their comrades, and whether this means platonically or romantically, it seems only Raphael and Aziraphale are doing it right.

For once, the latter is the one free. He searches for Raphael after sending the angels off once again, and, deciding he is off in the stars again, sits down on the edge of the clouds, looking over the galaxies. It amazes him every time he looks, to think that Raphael is the only one making the stars and planets. It seems like so much work for one angel, but it is all so beautiful and creative, and Raphael loves doing it. He had mentioned recently an old plan he had finally started working on, constellations, and he had even mapped a few of them out on the stars on his arms, thin yellow lines connecting them to each other. It seems strange to think he could make something as beautiful as these, and then turn around and make a snake.

“Aziraphale. What are you doing here?”

He stands suddenly and turns to greet the imposing angel. “Archangel Gabriel. I, uh, was just – admiring the galaxies.” Not technically a lie, but not the whole truth, either.

“Right. And why are you doing that, and not something else? We’re still preparing for Earth’s creation, aren’t we? Didn’t I just give you a list of things to do recently?”

Aziraphale starts wringing his hands. “Well, yes, but–”

“But what?”

“But, well–”

Gabriel purses his lips, annoyed. “Come on; spit it out.”

“But you never have anything for me on there!” he says in a rush, and suddenly, it all comes out. “The instructions always say ‘tell these angels to do this’ ‘tell those angels to do that’ ‘help them if needed’ and that’s it! I’m in the garden a lot because it’s all I can do. Making ducks, and turtles, and chipmunks, and – rabbits…” he trails off, shock widening his gaze as he remembers who he’s talking to. “Well, that is–”

“I see,” Gabriel says, his lips pressed together in a thin frown. “If you had a complaint, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well–”

“Well, what?” he says impatiently.

Aziraphale sputters incoherently, shrinking in on himself at the daunting form of Gabriel before him.

“Gabriel! Leave him alone!”

Turning around suddenly, the tension in Aziraphale’s shoulders ease as he relaxes and smiles, seeing Raphael landing behind him. He storms over as he folds his wings in, not bothering to wait.

“What ever did I do, brother? I was just talking to this angel.”

Raphael stands in Gabriel’s personal space, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You were scaring him and you know it! You always use your position to scare the other angels into doing what you want. For once, why don’t you try being kind? Just go – fuck off back to your platypus or something.”

Gabriel shifts his position, standing impossibly taller after Raphael’s small outburst. “You love him,” he says, eyes wide in shock which quickly narrow to indignation. “You – you aren’t supposed to! You–”

“There’s nothing for it! She hasn’t stopped us, so you can’t say anything.” He stands his ground, not denying the fact, before glaring once more at his brother and turning around swiftly on his heel. He takes Aziraphale by the arm and says softly, “Come on, angel. Let’s get out of ego-land.”

Aziraphale follows, trying to focus on Raphael instead of the daggers being stared into their backs by Gabriel. He leads them to the garden, traveling all the way to the very crook in the stream where they first met. Raphael lets go of Aziraphale and flops down in a huff, letting his feet splash in the water.

“Sorry about Gabriel. He’s a wanker. They all are, really. No one understands, but Gabriel’s the worst. Always thinks he’s right.”

Aziraphale settles onto the grass next to him gently, sighing. “I’m afraid I rather mucked things up back there for us. I’m sorry, dear.”

He pecks him on the cheek. “It’s not your fault. They were bound to find out eventually, if we’re going to be in Heaven for eternity. And there’s no one I’d rather spend an eternity with.”

Aziraphale hums and intertwines their fingers on the riverbed. He leans over and places his head on Raphael’s shoulder, watching the brightly colored fish swim around in the river. There’s faint quacking in the distance and other bird chatter from the trees, and it helps Aziraphale relax after his outburst. That is, until a rather large hooting noise startles him.

“Oh, I think that was an owl!” Raphael says as Aziraphale picks himself back off of him.

“What’s an owl?”

“I made another attempt at an animal recently! Since you didn’t like the snake.”

“Now, dear, I never said I didn’t like it. I just think it is – strange, is all.”

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to fake liking it just for me.” He holds out the arm that is not occupied by Aziraphale’s, and a large bird flies down from one of the trees and lands on it, hooting again. “This is an owl!”

Aziraphale studies it with a smile, delighting in the fact that it looks like an actual being and not just a sentient noodle. “It’s beautiful,” he decides,” And a step up in your animal creation from the snake.”

“Ah, yes, you say that,” he starts, letting the owl hop down onto his leg, “But you haven’t seen this!” Placing a hand on either side of the bird, he lifts its feathers, revealing long, lanky limbs. He starts laughing at Aziraphale’s shocked face and lets the owl go back to its nest. “Oh, yes, I do think that was a good one to make. Even if She doesn’t put it on Earth, it was worth it to see that reaction.”

Intertwining their hands once more, Aziraphale leans in and pecks Raphael’s cheek, saying, “Well, as long as it’s not the platypus, I’m sure whatever you come up with will be wonderful, dear.”

“Well then wait until you hear about my plan for geoducks!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [x](https://www.google.com/search?q=geoduck&safe=strict&sxsrf=ACYBGNRsKEp3zvWuKzird-Sr5fGnAxPu0g:1580760855385&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi79ImKmbbnAhXim-AKHYRJDFYQ_AUoAXoECBIQAw&biw=1536&bih=792#imgrc=W_FasyXTPCIZsM:)


	14. Questions Once Prolonged

Gabriel makes sure to give Aziraphale more assignments after that. If he can keep Aziraphale busy, then there is less time for him to be with Raphael, and maybe things can go back to the way they are supposed to be. His hardest assignment so far is trying to figure out how people would find water while out in the world. He has to come up with it by himself, and it has to be clean. He doesn’t know why anyone would want to leave Eden for that desolate wasteland, but he supposes you can never be too careful.

It takes him a while, but when he finally has the idea for groundwater and runs a few tests, he writes it out and describes how it works in detail so it can be implemented – since he isn’t supposed to be on Earth himself. As he’s finishing the last details, a sudden shadow looms over him, blocking the natural light and only leaving the glow of his halo. He looks up from his scroll to see Gabriel, who looks almost upset.

“I’m just putting the finishing touches on this and then it will be done,” Aziraphale starts to explain, thinking Gabriel has grown impatient for the answer to the problem.

“That’s not why I’m here. Though, I will take it if you’re done. I have orders for you from the Almighty Herself.” He hands over a scroll glowing with divinity.

Aziraphale opens it reverently, squinting to see the words past the glow, but his expression slackens into shock and surprise as he reads it. “The Almighty wants me… to guard over Eden?”

“She sees something in you, I suppose. Or She knows something She isn’t telling us. Either way, once She decides the Earth is ready for the humans, your title will officially become ‘Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate’.”

“That sounds – lovely.” He can’t quite bring himself to smile.

“Because of this new assignment, I have been told to cut back on the work I give you.” He frowns. “So, once you’re done with that, everything will go back to you mainly giving orders to your angels. You’ll have to set them up to work alone if you’re going to be on Earth.”

Aziraphale perks up a little at that; no new assignments means he can go and find Raphael again. Gabriel must have realized this, too, as he barely conceals his disapproval. He hurriedly finishes the scroll before him and hands it over to Gabriel, waiting for him to leave before taking his instructions from God with him to search for Raphael.

With Aziraphale so busy now, Raphael had to find other ways to spend his free time. Going to the garden and feeding the ducks just didn’t feel the same without Aziraphale, so he quickly crosse that off of the list. He tried to make a few new creatures, but when all his best effort produced was a worm, he gave up on that, too.

That was when he met Ba’al. They found him sulking around Heaven and invited him to a small gathering they had planned with a few other angels. He felt like an outsider there, an archangel amidst regular angels; but then Lucifer walked in, the first angel, and he somehow felt better. They joked around, tried this thing called food, and overall, had a pleasant time together. This is where Aziraphale found him.

Their meeting was in an open-aired gazebo, so anyone could hear the laughter floating through the air. The laughter, and the questions. Aziraphale listened carefully, hidden away from their sight behind a pillar.

“Why did you do that to snakes anyway, Raphael?” Someone starts to joke. “Why did She even decide to put them on Earth? They don’t make any sense!”

“Give me a break, it was the first thing I tried to make after the stars.” Aziraphale can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah? Why don’t you try being a snake! I’m sure then you’ll see how messed up it is.”

“Oh come on, when did this turn into a time to bash on me? What you really should be asking is, what is going on with this ‘Australia’ the Almighty is planning? I mean, letting that monster of a kangaroo that Sandalphon made roam freely there? Letting the abomination known as the platypus that Gabriel made swim along in its rivers? Who in their right mind would do such a thing?”

Laughs spill out from the gathering, and Aziraphale frowns. Questioning Her plans isn’t something they should be doing. He peeks around the pillar, but apparently, that was the wrong thing to do. One of the angels with thin, white hair and almost gray skin sees him immediately.

“Who are you?” He calls out, drawing the attention of the rest of the group.

Raphael’s smile grows wider when he sees Aziraphale standing there. “Aziraphale! He’s alright, Haniel. He’s the one I’ve talked about before.” He beckons Aziraphale over. “Come on, angel. No one’s going to hurt you.”

He quickly tucks the scroll into his robes before coming out from behind the pillar, taking the seat next to Raphael that he cleared. It takes a few seconds for the conversation to start up again, but they continue as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

When Raphael notices Aziraphale nervously fiddling with his hands, he gently rests his hand on Aziraphale’s leg, rubbing it to try and help him calm down.

“Is everything alright, angel?” he mutters softly, almost drowned out by the bellowing laughter around them.

Aziraphale looks around nervously. “I thought we were trying to be subtle around the other angels?”

“Once Gabriel found out, it didn’t take long for the others to get wind of it, too. But, you see, none of these angels care. They’re perfectly happy letting us do what we want.”

Aziraphale looks around and realizes he’s right. No one stares at them sitting so close together; no one even seems to bat an eye if they look in their direction. Everything just feels so different here.

“Why don’t you try some food? It might help you feel better.”

Aziraphale shakes his head before Raphael can move to get some. “I just – I think I’d rather leave, if it’s all the same to you. I’m a little uncomfortable.”

“Of course.” He brushes his lips against Aziraphale’s cheek before standing. “Well, all good things must come to an end. We’re going to leave now, but don’t let that stop you from having fun!”

Amid a chorus of goodbyes, Raphael takes Aziraphale’s hand and leads him out. The noise of their gathering slowly fades away as they walk around with seemingly no direction. Raphael simply holds Aziraphale’s hand as he feels the tension slowly ebb away.

“You really shouldn’t be questioning the Almighty like that,” Aziraphale finally says, low enough that it’s hard to hear.

“We were just joking around, angel. We didn’t mean anything of it.” He squeezes his hand reassuringly. “I’m sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable. With what Gabriel had you doing, and not being able to see you as often, well, I’m just glad they invited me so I could actually do something.”

Aziraphale squeezes back, but something still seems off.

“Are you sure that’s the only thing on your mind?”

Sighing, Aziraphale pulls the scroll back out of his robe. “The Almighty has tasked me with guarding Eden when the humans are made.”

Raphael lights up. “Why, that’s wonderful news! Angel, I’m so happy for–” He stops when he notices Aziraphale’s glum look. “You don’t like it? I thought you’d be happy.”

“It means I’m being pulled away from you. What if Gabriel was right? What if we aren’t supposed to be together?”

“Look at me.” He gently cups Aziraphale’s face between his hands. “Don’t listen to that prick, alright? If She wanted us apart, She would have done a better job than giving you a position where I can easily visit. You get to be on Earth! You should be excited!” He kisses Aziraphale’s forehead. “The Almighty can smite me down right here if we aren’t meant to be together.”

Aziraphale wairs with bated breath, but nothing happens. A small smile grows on his face. “Well, I suppose it isn’t terrible.”

Raphael leans in and gives him a proper kiss, letting go of his face to envelop him in a hug, making sure that he knows he is loved and safe in Raphael’s arms. When he pulls away, he says, Just stay away from the lions.”

“That was one time! I think I can handle myself out there.”

“It was one time, but I still had to step in. And if you’re the guardian of Eden? I bet your job is to protect the humans from the lions! And other awful creatures down there! Oh, we should learn about the different creatures on Earth so you know friend from foe and how to deal with them!”

They link arms and begin to walk again as Raphael continues to prattle on, heading towards the bright horizon and missing the storm brewing beneath the surface behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it was unclear - Ba'al is Beelzebub, and Haniel is Hastur (:


	15. Lost In The Throng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Blood and violence

They handed him a flaming sword. Aziraphale did not wish to fight, but he had no choice in the matter. Had the angels been given any time to prepare, they would have placed him in charge of a platoon. Most likely the angels he had already worked with. With the revolution suddenly starting, however, there was no time to place anyone in command other than the archangels, leaving everyone for themselves as they rush across the vast expanse of clouds soon to be stained gold and littered with angels; with friends.

No one was prepared for the revolution. Everything felt perfectly normal around Heaven before now, with angels befriending each other between breaks, and talking about different things they have seen or done. Even Gabriel seemed clueless to the sudden behavior of around half of Heaven.

Raphael and Aziraphale rush out together, for not even the threat of war could separate them. It was hard for both of them. Aziraphale saw other angels out there in the distance, believing there was still good in their hearts, while Raphael saw friends – he could puck out the faces of those he had grown close to, now glaring at the army of angels before them. He knew they had been questioning God, and had offered a few questions himself, but he was truthful when he told Aziraphale it was all in good fun; that was what he had thought; he never expected it to get serious.

Chaos envelops Heaven, as all battles are wont to do, splitting the two angels apart on the field of clouds. Raphael is still at the front, face turned into a permanent grimace as tears flow down his cheeks, slaying those he called friends and forcing himself to move on, to go against his very nature and not heal them.

Aziraphale, however, was falling behind. He parried blow after blow after blow, but he could not bring himself to swing the fiery rogue at anyone, and those who went down around him were due to other angels striking those fatal blows. He did not want to hurt anyone; he could never hurt anyone; but here he was, forced into the middle of a battle with an uncaring and unrelenting enemy.

It takes Raphael a while to notice Aziraphale is no longer with him, his brain preoccupied with the heat of the battle. He notices after cutting down an angel who tried to attack him from behind, whirling around with wide eyes as he searches for him. He spots Aziraphale on the edge of the battlefield, determination pulsing through him as he fights his way across the armies towards his love.

Aziraphale is uncertain how he made it to the edge of the battlefield, but he is glad there are not as many fights going on around him to focus on. Instead, all of his energy can be focused on this one particularly aggressive angel trying to cut him down.

“Please,” Aziraphale says, blocking what would have been a fatal stab to his chest. “We don’t have to fight.”

The other angel sneers and ignores him, pressing harder with his onslaught.

“Please, Kafziel!” Aziraphale begs. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You’re pathetic,” Kafziel snarls, faking Aziraphale out at the last second. Aziraphale tries to parry the hit, so it narrowly misses its fatal blow as the sword embeds itself in his leg.

Kafziel pulls the sword out as Aziraphale’s knees buckle, dropping to the ground as his leg gives out. Gold starts to stain the white of his robe and slowly spreads as Aziraphale gives one pleading look at the other angel, poised to cast the finishing blow.

The sword does not move again, however, except to fall from Kafziel’s limp hands as another sword protrudes from his chest. Aziraphale watches as the sword is pulled back out, and Kafziel crumples to reveal Raphael, rage and worry filling his face. He runs over to Aziraphale and deops to his knees, moving the angel gently to rest in his lap.

“Raphael,” Aziraphale starts, but the archangel silences him with a glare. The wound is in his upper thigh, the robe surrounding it already a dark gold.

Raphael gently and carefully caresses the wound, pushing every angelic miracle he can into healing it, but the wound is too deep; it only heals partially. Aziraphale winces in pain as he tries to shift away from Raphael’s touch, trying to not make him worry. It only makes his anger grow.

Raphael looks up to the sky in rage, daring to let his lips whisper, “Why?”

“No,” Aziraphale starts, suddenly fearful, “Please, Raphael, don’t–”

“Why?!” he repeats, yelling and screaming at the God who never talks to them, at the God who let the angels fight each other, at the God who let his Aziraphale be hurt. Hot tears start streaming down his cheeks. “Why would you allow this?! Why would you let us suffer?!” He lets his anguish out in his mangled screams, still cradling the injured Aziraphale in his arms tightly.

Around the battlefield, Aziraphale notices a change in the course of the war. Those who rebelled, those who started the fight in the first place, are starting to disappear, the clouds forming the floor at the base of their feet giving way as they Fall. Where they fall to is unknown, but Aziraphale knows it can not be pleasant.

He looks back up at Raphael, tears in his eyes as he pleads, “Please, Raphael, stop! Look around you; they’re all disappearing.”

Raphael turns his golden eyes towards Aziraphale, fearful, but determined. He can already feel the cloud growing unsteady under his legs. “I can’t agree with God if She let this happen, angel,” he says softly, pressing a kiss just under the curls falling onto Aziraphale’s forehead. “I’m sorry, my love.”

Aziraphale does not get a chance to ask what he is sorry for – in a split second, the cloud gives way and Raphael falls through, letting go of Aziraphale so he does not Fall with him. Aziraphale lands on the cloud and it feels harder than it should, harder than it ever has, and he looks through the gap next to him, horrified, tears streaming down his face as he stretches his arm out to grab Raphael, to bring him back up, back to him.

Raphael stretches his own arm out even though he knows it is fruitless, and Aziraphale sees the words, “I love you,” on the fallen archangel’s lips before the clouds rejoin again, leaving the two lovers separate and alone, with almost no chance they’ll ever see each other again.


	16. I'll Remember Your Love

Silence falls in the bookshop as Aziraphale finishes the story. Crowley did not interrupt him once, listening intently throughout the entire thing.

He finally breaks the silence by saying, “No wonder they took my memories.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean – an archangel! And – and you! Imagine how much chaos I would have caused if I remembered that! I’d probably have insisted to be ranked higher in Hell’s hierarchy, so someone like Hastur or Ligur wouldn’t have been important at all. Plus, I probably wasn’t part of their plans anyway, if I fought with you.”

“I was shocked when you told me you didn’t have a special ranking because of that,” Aziraphale admits. He’s fairly sure Crowley’s deflecting, but he can’t blame him. After hearing about an entire lifetime of memories he had lost, it was certainly a lot to take in at once. He continues to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair, waiting patiently for him to speak first as the story of their past sinks in.

Crowley doesn’t know what to say, though. He had learned so much in such a small amount of time – the archangel part had shocked him, obviously, but if he couldn’t remember a big thing like that, then he could never remember the smaller, more important things either. Like how he and Aziraphale had a habit of feeding the ducks well before St. James. Or their secret visits to Eden before that fateful day when he tempted Eve and they stood together on the garden wall.

“I love you,” Aziraphale finally says, breaking the silence between them. Fresh tears start to spill from his eyes as a somber smile rests on his face. “I never did get to say it back before the clouds reformed.”

Crowley takes in the look on Aziraphale’s face and carefully shifts so he’s sitting in his lap instead, cupping Aziraphale’s face with his hands and brushing the tears away with his thumbs. Aziraphale reaches out with shaky hands before mirroring Crowley, feeling the soft skin of his face under his own. He then stares up into Crowley’s eyes, his own full with joy and hope and everlasting love that has withstood the test of time and all the hardships it brought with it. It’s almost too much for Crowley to bear, so to avoid it, he closes his eyes and leans in, pressing another kiss to Aziraphale’s lips as Aziraphale kisses back.

When Aziraphale pulls away, Crowley doesn’t let him get far, leaning in further to kiss his cheek. “I love you.” He kisses the other cheek. “I love you.” He kisses his forehead. “I love yo.” He continues peppering Aziraphale’s face in an endless onslaught of kisses, trying to make it up to him for the lost time; those millennia of waiting.

Once Crowley has finally finished his onslaught and Aziraphale has a smile glowing so brightly Crowley may need to find his sunglasses again, they settle comfortably into each other’s arms, snuggling in the corner of the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley finally says.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, dear.”

“I have everything to be sorry for. I’m sorry for not remembering when we first met, I’m sorry for making you wait this long to have me again, and I’m sorry–” he chokes as he tries to hold back tears, taking a breath before finishing, “I’m sorry I still don’t remember.”

Aziraphale doesn’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, just as Crowley had before the Fall. “You don’t need to be sorry, my love. I’ll remember for the both of us.”

Crowley’s cheeks flush and he shifts in Aziraphale’s lap again to press his head against Aziraphale’s warm chest. “I still feel the need to make up for it. Tomorrow we can go feed the ducks if you want, now that I finally understand why you dote on them so much. And I heard that there’s going to be a meteor shower later this week’ we can go drive out to Tadfield to watch it. Adam’s kept the light pollution low over there, and I’m sure if we ask, he’ll make sure it’s a clear night. And then we could go visit a greenhouse or something along those lines with a lot of plants and things. And there’s also–”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale says it to stop his rambling, but it is spoken softly and tenderly, holding within it that same love he’s held back for an eternity now.

“Sorry,” he says, growing red.

“You don’t need to make up for anything. All I need right now is you by my side, forever and always; for the rest of time. That will make up for it.”

Crowley smiles up at Aziraphale and repeats, “Forever and always.”

Crowley does move his plants in not long after, selling the flat. He might not have his memories fully back yet; he might not ever get them back; but at least he has his angel, his Aziraphale, to love and cherish for the rest of eternity. Nothing would ever split them apart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like the fluff after last chapter's angst :)  
> And that's it! For those of you who have been following along, there's now new art at the beginning of chapter 1!  
> If you'd like to see more, or just want to chat, you can come check me out on [tumblr!](https://pearlll09.tumblr.com/)


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